The Cartel by Don Winslow

finds a note—“Courtesies of a fellow Sinaloan.”
    So much for Jorge.
    But who is it?
    Magda is not stupid.
    She knows the narco-world and its players. There are dozens of Sinaloans in Puente Grande, but maybe a handful with the means to pull off the sort of privileges she’s experiencing. Like most Sinaloans in the business, she knows that Adán Barrera, the former Señor de los Cielos, is a resident here.
    Could it be?
    Step away from yourself, she thinks, looking into the mirror as she applies the makeup, such a simple thing that is now a great pleasure. He’s Adán Barrera —he could bring in the most beautiful women in the world if he pleased.
    What would he want with me?
    Magda makes a frank self-assessment—she’s still beautiful, but closer to thirty than to twenty. Women her age back in Sinaloa are considered old maids.
    But three afternoons later, a bottle of good Merlot arrives with a glass, a corkscrew, and another note: “A few friends and I are having a ‘movie night’ and I wonder if you’d like to come as my guest. Adán Barrera.”
    Magda has to laugh.
    Inside the most brutal prison in the Western world, the man is courting her as if they’re high school students.
    He’s asking for a date.
    To “movie night.”
    She laughs even harder when she realizes what else she’s thinking—oh, God, what should I wear?
    The guard stands there, clearly waiting for an answer.

    Magda hesitates—is this just a setup for a gang rape?
    If it is, it is, she decides. She has to take the chance, because she knows that she can’t survive fifteen years in this place as a “normal” inmate.
    “Tell him I’d love to,” Magda says.
    —
    What first strikes Magda about Adán Barrera is how shy he is.
    Not a quality you usually see in a buchone.
    His entire affect is subdued, from the tone of his voice to his clothes—tonight a black Hugo Boss suit with a white shirt.
    Adán’s a little shorter than she is; there are a few flecks of silver in the temples of his black hair. He smiles shyly and then looks down as he shakes her hand and says, “I’m so glad you came. I’m Adán Barrera.”
    “Of course,” she says. “Everyone knows who you are. I’m Magda Beltrán.”
    “Everyone knows who you are.”
    Adán notices the wine bottle and glass in her left hand. “You didn’t like the wine? I’m sorry.”
    “No,” Magda says. “I just didn’t want to drink it alone. I thought it would be more fun if we drank it together.”
    She’d decided on one of the blue dresses that he sent. At first she went with the sweater and slacks as appropriate for a “movie night,” then decided that he’d sent dresses for a reason, and didn’t want to disappoint him.
    Adán walks her to the front of five rows of folding chairs that have been set in front of a large-screen television. She notices that their whole row is empty, but that the others are filled with inmates who try to look at her without staring. Other inmates stand by the door of the dining hall, clearly on guard.
    Adán pulls out a chair for her, she sits down, and he sits beside her. “I hope you like Miss Congeniality. Sandra Bullock?”
    “I like her,” Magda says. “It’s about a beauty pageant contestant, isn’t it?”
    “I thought…”
    “That’s very considerate of you.”
    “Would you like something? Popcorn?”
    “Popcorn and red wine?” Magda asks. “Well, why not?”
    Adán nods to an inmate, who hustles to a popcorn machine and comes back with two bowls. Another inmate hands Adán a corkscrew and another glass.
    He opens the bottle and pours. “I know nothing about wine. It’s supposed to be good.”
    She rolls the glass and sniffs. “It is.”

    “I’m glad.”
    “Do I have you to thank for the clothes?” she asks. “The cosmetics?”
    Adán dips his head in a slight acknowledgment.
    “And my safety?” she asks.
    He nods again. “Nobody will touch you in here unless you want him to.”
    Does that include you? she